Eating brownies strait from the box 😋🤤
Eating brownies strait from the box 😋🤤
My stomach needs to catch up with my eyes lol. Almost finished but just couldn't fit that last slice and the brownie. Please send belly rubs 😩
I feel funny! Someone anonymously made this gif for me and I love it!
Accidental spills… whoops…
Get the full video on my OnlyFans 🤤🤤😉
fuuuuuck this thing is huge
hm i don’t think my belly looks big enough here huh?^~^
Finishing up a seltzer for my first big bloat. Finally squeezing out some burps. Wish someone was squeezing them out of me
hey everyone :) i finally decided to make a venmo so if you guys want to sponsor some stuffings or want some scandalous photos dmed to your tumblr let me know and i’ll get back to you shortly! i recently shattered my phone (ugh i know >.<) and im trying to figure out what to do with the time being. thank you all for being so supportive, I really appreciate all of you guys and ill post more gifs/pictures soon :D i have some things planned with cream!
Chongyun has a very sensitive stomach, so every piece of junk or spicy food gives him awful stomach pains.
"What's wrong, honey? Are you feeling unwell?" asked worried Xingqiu.
"Y-yes... It's just my stomach... Something is really not agreeing with it," Chongyun wrapped his arms around his belly and winced.
"Oh, poor thing," Xing put the book away. "Let me see... Gosh, look at this bloated tummy! What did you eat?"
"I think it's... Ouch... Oh... It's your potato chips. I... I decided to try a little... They weren't too spicy, so I decided to eat more... Ooh... It was a bad, bad idea..."
Xingqiu chuckled silently.
"You're a dummy. You shouldn't have eaten that much. Does it hurt a lot now?"
"Yes..." Chongyun sobbed. "Can you rub it for me, please? My hands are too cold for it..."
"Of course, honey" Xingqiu started rubbing his boyfriend's belly. "Is it better now?"
"Yes... Don't stop please... Ohh it hurts a lot right there." Chongyun grabbed Xingqiu's hand and pressed lower against his bloated tummy. This action made his stomach make a loud gurgle.
"Oh, poor noisy tummy. Hold on, baby, it gonna be ok soon" Xingqiu bowed and kissed his boyfriend's tummy. "And then I'll make special unspicy chips for your and your sensitive tummy."
So he continued massaging Chongyun's stomach, listening to his helpless sobs and quiet moans, until both of them fell asleep hugging each other.
Bloated belly 🥤
I’m 2 large diet cokes in and looking so bloated. But there’s something so hot knowing I can still be smaller than a fatty and I only temporarily blow up for a different size comparison.
If someone had told Ashton that at one point in his life, he would be ordering a drink called the “Salty Llama” in order to schmooze up to some big shot investor from a firm that specializes in dairy-free milk, he would’ve rolled his eyes and gone back to work.
...Which is pretty much why he’s doing this. Work. Enabling some sleazy guy’s repulsively flavored drink addiction, however, is a new low. But it’s not like Ashton can be blamed. Office parties are the perfect place to schmooze. Especially when you work for a business firm capable of renting out an entire lounge, and that lounge happens to have an open bar, and you happen to be the only sober one left amongst the throng of too-rich tipsy businesspeople who peaked in high school and still have yet to get over it.
The bartender slides Ashton his drink, leaving a slippery gleam of water trailing in its wake. He angles his face away from “dairy-free investor Ashton can’t remember the name of” to take the first sip. Immediately, he winces. This drink definitely puts the “salt” in “Salty Llama.” And the llama, too, oddly enough, though Ashton couldn’t explain why.
It dries his throat on the way down.
Ashton turns back to give the investor a charming smile, ignoring the rotten aftertaste, and nearly faints dead away at the sight of the investor chugging his own “Salty Llama” straight down. Jesus. From the amount of ease with which that was done, Ashton’s fairly certain this man’s going to be experiencing liver failure by forty.
“Another?” Ashton asks, already waving down the bartender.
Dairy-free investor grins.
Three drinks for the investor later, and one for Ashton, the lights dim and a disco ball sets to glittering. It casts its rivulet of polka dots across every dazed face in the lounge, and Ashton narrows his eyes at the newfound lack of light. It shouldn’t be an issue for him, but this lounge is located at the top of the Myshuno skyscraper, and drunk people and heights seem like a disaster waiting to happen.
Oh, well. Ashton supposes he can only be grateful that the disco ball has served as distraction enough for the investor and his horrid drinks. He’s gone off somewhere, likely to flop like a worm amongst the horde of other worm-floppers.
Ashton swivels on his stool and winces as a tight cramp courses through his lower belly. What the hell? He pushes off of the stool and feels another sharp pain spear his navel.
Then comes the unmistakable burn of stomach acid as he begins making his way across the room in search of Warren. Now seems like an adequate time to make some hasty goodbyes, and if Ashton’s stomach is going to start hurting, that only further cements his resolve to get up and go.
Ashton spots Warren standing before a solitary bookshelf, paging through a book about wild moths. He feels mildly guilty for leaving him alone, but Warren knows the deal when it comes to these things. Work Ashton is an entirely separate being than Warren’s Ashton.
“Hey,” Ashton says, loud enough to be heard over the din. “Ready to go?”
Warren returns the book to its spot on the shelf and nods, allowing Ashton to plow them a path to the elevators. Ashton’s tummy sets to rumbling and tightening on their way, reacting negatively to the sudden influx of movement.
He inhales deeply and powers forward, unwilling to let an upset stomach deter him from reaching the cool, lovely quiet of the elevators.
Warren ducks below a swinging elbow and slams the down arrow. It flickers orange. The slim silver doors whoosh open, then shut at their backs.
Warren wipes sweat off his forehead with his sleeve and says, “I always forget that all your co-workers still think they’re sixteen.”
The elevator rail is freezing against Ashton’s waist. He can feel his belly’s disquieted grumbles roaming from one side to another, up and down. “What, you didn’t see ‘rager’ on the invite? Tsk.”
Warren laughs, then squints and leans forward. His eyes are such a liquid black that Ashton can see his own face reflected in Warren’s irises. He looks… pale. And exhausted.
“What is it?” Warren asks.
Warren takes a step closer, effectively cornering Ashton against the wall, and grabs his elbow. “Something’s up. What is it?”
Ashton’s eyes slide away, before he sighs and lowers his forehead to Warren’s shoulder. “I’m not totally sure. I think I must’ve eaten something strange.” As if on queue, a seismic gurgle shudders out of Ashton’s turning stomach.
Warren rubs his side and frowns. “Those lobster cakes, maybe?”
Ashton shakes his head, letting his eyes slide shut as the taut rumblings of his tummy contract into one balled-up cramp. “No, I think — think it was the drink I had. Salty Llama.” Terrible at vocalizing his desires, Ashton turns a bit and exhales in relief as Warren obliges and begins massaging circles into his gut, whose previous murmurs have begun to morph into unproductive groans.
“Salty Llama?” Warren asks. His fingertips dip into Ashton’s distended upper stomach and rub, trundling over the meager contents inside that have somehow managed to leave Ashton’s entire middle bloated with air. Ashton’s hardly had anything all night, which means that drink must’ve single handedly caused all this damage.
Ashton’s forehead creases. “Tequila, a shit ton of salt, and — probably llama fur.”
“Llama fur,” Warren says. “That’ll do it.”
The elevator opens onto the dimly lit lobby. Ashton sets his jaw and follows Warren out the revolving doors and down the packed street to where they’ve parked their car, staunchly ignoring the way the tequila seething through his gut sloshes against the tender walls of his stomach.
Warren holds open the door to the passenger’s side, brushing his thumb over Ashton’s cheek before he lowers himself in.
It’s a fairly lengthy drive from San Myshuno to Willow Creek, and Friday night traffic is no help. They should’ve taken a cab.
Ashton shrugs off his suit jacket and untucks his shirt once they’ve hit a particularly dense patch of traffic. He slides his hand below the fabric onto his bare stomach, grimacing at the mild swell rounding out his typically flat abdomen. His touch generates an empty growl.
He takes the heel of his palm and works it into his belly, trying to force that insufferable drink down and out of where it’s currently tearing up his insides. He gasps as Warren steps on the gas again, his hand lurching unintentionally deeper in. A grotesque wave of nausea launches itself into his chest like bad heartburn, and he doubles forward with a quiet gasp.
His hand still firm against his tummy, Ashton is acutely aware of the bubbling slurry winding its way through his intestines, that Salty Llama finally making its way downstream. His gut whines pitifully.
“Shit.” Warren takes one hand off the wheel to rub the small of Ashton’s back. “Just…” He glances at the clock on the dashboard and sighs. “Forty-five more minutes.”
Day 7: still nauseous all day—tummy doesn’t like anything I put into it :(